


maybe i'm waking up today

by lunaverenas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverenas/pseuds/lunaverenas
Summary: Pain, Kageyama Tobio and milk bread: what Oikawa Tooru has felt longing for since he could remember.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	maybe i'm waking up today

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: wounds are sutured, blood is mentioned, a knife is licked, what is already in the tags, an ankle is injured, people are raised to be assassins, and hints at a doctor (original character) being creepy (related to the implied torture tag, but just creepy in general as well). as always, if you spot something else that may need a warning, feel free to tell me.

Tobio was not gentle. He had never been, but it was more evident now that they were not children.

Most of the time, he knew that. He knew, in the same twisted way he knew what the sensation of a hole in one’s head is like, or the taste of milk bread: a knowledge built within him over the passage of time, that resides in too deep a place to be forgotten, which doesn't mean that he can remember how he came to know about it.

Sometimes, he knew that, and resented him for it all the same.

Today is one of these times.

Tooru hisses at the sensation of the needle penetrating his skin, wondering if he should give into temptation and say that Kindaichi is far more careful with him, but ultimately acknowledging that it would be stupid to provoke his only ally _like that._

“Who taught you to stitch?”

Tobio continues to focus on his work, not letting his attention get caught by Tooru's obvious bait.

“You did.”

Well, yeah, but he was twelve and yet to be introduced to the concept of delicacy. He comes up with a question, another attempt at a bait, except - _has Chiaki never taught you better?_ \- he already knows the answer, and he can't bring himself to ask when it's so personal. It's not like that creep would care about it.

“I hate you,” he replies, instead, before he can think about that a little bit too much.

It has no effect on Tobio, but then again, little does.

Maybe he should be focused on his ankle and how terrible it will be to wait for it to heal again, in such a short period of time.

Blood, however, is familiar.

It's smeared on the blue blazer Tooru had been wearing (a part of his innocent college student disguise), on Tobio’s cheek, and over the memories they share.

Today is, in a general sense, a bad day.

He thought the mission was a set-up as soon as Mizoguchi mentioned it, since the man was never alone under normal circumstances, but he hesitated to believe that he would do that to Tobio.

Of course, he would, since now they were in a house that seemed to be older than Tooru’s mother had been when he had last seen her, seeking shelter from the rain and from Mizoguchi’s men.

(Kindaichi was gentle, and he seemed to know how to minimize the pain every and any type of wound could cause. He was also someone who disliked speed, and who liked to spar. Not exactly what he wanted right now. And don't even get him started on Kunimi.)

“You let them do it,” Tobio says, when he finishes, still not staring at his face. “Didn’t you?”

He’s getting too introspective.

“Mess me up? I did. Because every day, when I wake up, I think, man, I wish someone would try to break a little bone of mine—”

“Drug you.”

Tooru is quiet. Tobio’s eyes are on his face, finally.

At his silence, he continues.

“You do not react to pain like that. If you did, Chiaki-san would have killed you already.”

He has thought about this before, back when he was fourteen and found out that the Seijoh territory was dominated by a boy who had escaped Kita-1, back when he was seventeen and lied about his perception of temperature to convince Tobio to let him sleep on the bottom of the bunk bed with him. He has thought about the way that the hands of Kita-1’s most efficient killer are the only ones he accepts dying by, or for.

So he takes a deep breath. If there's someone who can witness him in such a pathetic, disobedient state, it's him.

“Yes.”

There's no reaction.

He continues.

“I have no idea why Mizoguchi let you tag along, but I thought you would go back, so I did.”

“I stayed.”

“You did.”

Tobio’s eyes are emotionless, but there's a sparkle of life in them.

“I understand.”

Tooru doesn't know why he expected a lengthy answer. Maybe he has spent too much time near the young ones, who like to talk, apologize for their mistakes, and make him wonder if he was like that when he was their age.

It's not like Tobio’s role has ever been social, though. The most social thing about him is that whenever Tooru catches glimpses of him during celebratory parties, Mizoguchi is petting his head, like he is a well-behaved _thing,_ rather than a human. That, or Chiaki is smiling at him, in the way that creep smiles, which isn't pleasant.

“I do not remember what pain is like.”

It was no surprise. But it was inevitable to remember what led to this. Tooru doesn't want to spill any more blood, but he wouldn't mind killing the creep.

“Give me your hand.”

Tobio does, his head slightly tilted to the side. Tooru hates him a little less, in that moment.

He takes the pocket knife his brain had forgotten about, earlier, out of its place on the med-kit. He makes a small cut on the palm of his hand, ignores the silent atmosphere of anger at how they will need to go over the wound cleaning procedure again, and gives the knife to Tobio.

“The drug is in my blood,” he answers the unasked question. Tooru ignores Tobio’s face as well, and his mouth, and whatever it's doing with his knife.

When he tries to give it back, Tooru takes his hand in his, instead.

Tobio’s hand is soft, in spite of everything. It's well-cared for. It's worthy. He's not in the mood to cause significant damage, so he intertwines their fingers, and squeezes in the only way he knows how, without breaking bone but getting as close as he can to that.

“It's good,” Tobio admits, quietly. If he did not know better he would say he was happy. If he did not know better he would ask why are your cheeks pink. “It's good.”

“Is it?”

It will be difficult to survive, and escape; but they are not in hell anymore, and Tooru is not enough of a pessimist to not consider that a pro.

“It's wonderful.”

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from i'll be good, a song by jaymes young.
> 
> this was originally meant to be a fluff.
> 
> i managed to write a hand-holding scene and a hopeful [though open] ending, but. this was supposed to be a fluff. well. i suppose i am inclined to write angst.


End file.
